Agents: 3 am
by Overlord Mordax
Summary: Ever wonder just what Agent Brown is thinking? A short insight into his 'reality'.


A/N: This is just a short addition to the 'Agents' series, piece intended to expand and define Agent Brow's character, who has been somewhat lacking throughout the series so far. It has no specific time frame within the series.  
  
News: Agents: The Series now has a message board. Come to  
  
You can talk about the series with other fans, AND with the authors, me and Stormy. We'll be glad to answer you questions, receive your praise, constructive criticism, compare philosophy, anything.  
  
Disclaimer: The Matrix belongs to Warner Bros. and the Wachowski brothers. Whitman and Mimosa belong to Stormhawk.  
  
Agents: Three in the Morning  
  
By Overlord Mordax  
  
The walls of the room were white and bare and there was hardly any furniture; only a desk with a computer on it and a swiveling chair. On the whole it was rather depressing, unfinished, serving its purpose but lacking any personal amenities or clutter; there weren't even any papers on the desk. It looked rather like a cooperate office into which no one had moved yet.  
  
But the office had an occupant, even if Agent Brown rarely was in it. He honestly had no need for it. While Agent Smith, an organizational agent, and Jones, a technical agent, both had extensive uses for their offices, Brown's primary function was combat. The only time he spent in the office at all was logging in rebel kills and checking on assignments. Any excess time he possessed was given over to his personal training room or to monitoring the recruits.  
  
But at three in the morning there were rarely recruits training, pursuing instead such humanities as sleep and whatever leisure activities were done at such an hour. Agent Brown was returning from a raid on a rebel stronghold. He strode purposefully into the dark, abandoned training area. His suit was immaculate even though moments before it had been liberally spattered in rebel blood. He paused in the center of the wide room. Recruits, Brown held no stock in recruits, less than none. He deeply mistrusted them. He had been stoically against recruiting humans when the idea had been initially suggested, and he was still against it.  
  
Humans were erratic, unpredictable. It was well near impossible to judge how a given human would react in any given situation. And there was the fine line between recruits and rebels. Brown had noticed this long ago, the marked similarity between the behaviors of the two groups. Both in their former occupations were generally reclusive, ill at ease in the larger society, reclusive, were possessed of a higher than average IQ, and had highly specified interests especially in the areas of computers and fantasies. In fact many of the same individuals who were monitored by the agency as potential recruits the rebels also considered potentials for their own ranks.  
  
This did not give Agent Brown any confidence as to the loyalty of recruits. One moment or incident could potentially change their allegiances.  
  
He glowered walking past some of the shadowy training equipment. Agent Brown held in his memory a time before recruits, before the mainframe's vague experiments, Smith's nearly irreparable error when it came to that, woman, before Jones' weakness. Brown remembered a time when the Agents were unified and strong under a single purpose; a time before uncertainty and complications.  
  
An Agent's duty and purpose was to keep humans from becoming aware of the matrix and to terminate those who did so. The suggestion that they needed the aid of humans to accomplish this was not only ridiculous, it was insulting!  
  
Brown paused again on his way from the room and vented his frustration on a punching bag that hung on a chain from the ceiling. He began with a devastating kick and followed as it swung back toward him with a series on punches that would have been a blur to normal human vision.  
  
Human beings were purposeless. Why was he the only one to see how unthinkable it was to try and designate them with the purpose of Agents? They were completely unsuited to the task, weak, irrational, and far too easily swayed by a moment's emotion. Especially females!  
  
Whitman was all the proof he needed of that.  
  
The Agent shuddered inwardly, continuing to pummel the bag of sand.  
  
Whitman was Brown's worst projected outcome brought into being and then taken to the extreme. Humans were far too frail mentally to handle the duties of an agent, and Whitman's delicate mind had snapped like a twig, leaving a vicious, dangerous, truly evil creature where there had once been a human. He had thought that after her the other Agents would see what he had been trying to communicate; that things would go back to the way they had been in the beginning. And for a time it seemed they had.  
  
But then recruiting had resumed and now fifty years later here was Mimosa. Why did Smith refuse to learn form his earlier mistakes in a fashion so like that of humanity In Mimosa he had repeated two of his greatest mistakes so far, in making a human into an agent, and then in giving her direct mainframe access which had led to her addiction. Brown was waiting for the third mistake.  
  
Then perhaps Smith would realize that no good could come of any association between humans and Agents. It did not make anyone stronger or more efficient; it simply spread the weakness of the humans like dye into water. Humans were forever making and unmaking choices, causing endless complications for themselves and those around them.  
  
Agent Brown had never had a choice. He had been an Agent and as such his sole purpose was to kill all rebels. But sometimes it seemed that pursuit of this goal was as hallow as it was fulfilling, sometimes when it was three in the morning and shadows fell and his footsteps echoed in copy of a reality he would never know...  
  
Brown walked away from the punching bag, leaving it to swing and groan on its chain.  
  
What if one day there were no more rebels?  
  
end 


End file.
